


Why Don't You Be the Writer

by indigogreyx



Series: Spamon Crossover [2]
Category: Pretty Little Liars, Pretty Little Liars Series - Sara Shepard, The Vampire Diaries - L. J. Smith, Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Ambiguity, Class Issues, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Fluff, Mindless Fluff, Teacher-Student Relationship, Writer's Block, Writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigogreyx/pseuds/indigogreyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She takes a summer writing course for her college applications. The teacher she gets is less than impressed with her work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Don't You Be the Writer

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little crossover fluff, tiny hints of angst and references to Damon's previous horrid love life. The prompt was "artist/muse;" title taken from the song "The Writer" by Ellie Goulding.

> _My love is like a red red rose._

He failed her for plagiarism.   ** _Unoriginal.  Unmoving.  Did you even try at_   _all?_**   It was the first grade she had received that didn’t form triangular lines, but she was more interested in the way his pen hurried smoothly against the page.  Confident, certain in its opinion, but her paper was simply one of many hopeless wonders to be graded.

> _My love is fractured._

The pen came down again.   ** _Why?  What’s made it this way?  Explain_   _yourself._**

He handed the paper back, glancing easily onto the next in the stack.  D.

> _My love is constantly questioned._

~~_**Wh**_~~  It was scribbled out, just before the curt  _statement_  he’d written.  She grinned, glancing up at him with the paper in hand; he refused to look at her.  A C, for tricking him. _  
_

She tried again.  Really thought about it, the bright blue, the smile she still hadn’t seen.  The impossible challenge.

> _My love is like mints in water._

**_First lines are important.  This is a summer writing course, not botany.  It shouldn’t be this hard._ **

> _~~My~~  Love is hard._

She submitted the next day.  It took him longer than usual to return it, but when he did, there were only two heavy words written steadily across the page.   _ **I know.**_

> _My love is extreme.  Like a field of sunflowers, but dark ones, moonflowers, you get lost in them and can’t decide if you’re terrified of the darkness or more intrigued by the unknown.  Like drowning yourself in warm water.  Like falling up stairs, like finding treasure in everyone’s trash…_
> 
> _Like something hatefully good._

His response came quickly, almost frantic.   _ **Too many words, you’re not making**_ **sense _.  No one loves like that._**

> _My love is like that._

He glared sourly up at her when he read it.

> _My love is like this?_

He sighed loudly from his desk.

> _My love is like whoa._

He tossed the paper out.

She used the rest of her notebook, attempt after attempt, varying in length and quality but always followed by his commentary.  Feverish or overthoughtfully slow. Shorter and shorter but still  _more_.

> _My love is an X-ray._
> 
> _My love is like a silver medal._
> 
> _My love_ is _gold._
> 
> _My love is._
> 
> _Love._

Finally, she had it.  She waited until the last day, his eyebrows growing closer and closer together until she knew he’d given up on her.  The class filed out, his sighs at the final papers in front of him filling the strained silence.  She approached, smiling like she had a secret before holding a singular page out across the wood towards his regretfully hopeful hands.

> _My love is yours._

He looked up slowly.  Blindsided, surprised, like he’d had his map upside down the entire journey.  She just beamed at him, proud of her finished product.  Because it was true: four words across the top of the page, otherwise blank.  Waiting for a story.

He failed her again.  He told her exactly why in bed a week later.


End file.
